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Established 1901 

Delaware Valley College of Science and Agriculture 
Doylestown, Pa. 18901 

Winter 1974-1975 


Ana Simon 

Typing Art Photography 

Frank Holmes Lynn Johnstone Darlene Grebe 

Ana Simon Chris Shimko James Forsythe 

Gayle Berger 


George Shimko 

Ana Simon 
Frank Holmes 

Faculty Advisors 

George Keys 

Edward O'Brien, Jr. 

John Mertz 


George Shimko Ana Simon Chris Shimko 

James Forsythe Michael Schnatz Joseph G. Lalli 

The Gleaner is published during the scholastic year by the students 
of Delaware Valley College of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. The 
Gleaner is a student publication, and the opinions expressed 
within are not necessarily those of the Gleaner staff or 
administration. Neither the college nor staff will assume 
responsibility for plagiarism unknowingly occurring within. 

Our flag's been raised 

both new and torn 
Since long ago 

this nation was born. 
Two hundred steps 

etched, well worn 
This spiraling caravan 

continues on. 

The mushroom whispering. . . 

Alone, Alone — I grow alone 
And make and break as one 
I take the dead and give you life 
I've a beauty and purpose all my own 
I am needed — that is why I'm here! 
Yet I — / myself am deadly 
Sitting in this world I destroy and — 

I am the mushroom of life. 

You're like a dream that I remember 
In fall. . .when morning glory overrun 

the rose dried hedge. . . 

like a visage of bright memory. 
And bird flocks waft together 

in migratory drifts. 
When air grows cool, then sharp 
And spiders spin their grass webs. . . 
All this beauty does reflect but you 
You. . . like a dream that I remember. 

Ana Simon 

who says it's wrong 

i went to town thee other day 
and at a news stand i saws thees man 
he was reading outlawed contreband 

i says to thees man I say man don't you know that's Wrong 
he says to me he says who says it's Wrong 
so i says who says it's Right 
so that man walked away 

then i meself started to page through that pornographic 

so thees high class elderly gentile man says son don't 

you know thats Wrong 
i says who are you to say it's Wrong 
i'm the reverend John hoover he says, then says its 

so i puts it away and follows him home 

and sat on thees long bench wit many other peoples 

on thee big door outside it said 

"Enter You Are All Welcome in God's Home" 

so i thought's thees was the Man himself 

then he started talking and everyone listened and 

sos did i. 
he said we was all God's children but he no look 

like my pa 
and wit a smile he said God's only wish was that 

we be fair to everyone 
and we'd all be saved, but I ivasn't dying 
then they passed thees wicker basket at me and 
everyone was puttin' in shiny coins 
but i had none sos i puts in thees little acorn 
theys all laughed and said quit wit thee games 
so i says fine wit me, so then they throws me out 
on thee steps 

God just smiled 

then thee man wit thee wicker basket says that was 

so i says who says it's Wrong and he says who says it's 

so i walked away without me acorn 

Michael Schnatz 

I) e a th 's R ain b o w 

Yellow sun glowing in the field 
Blues running to the greens 
Red spills on the ground 
Orange sunset is cast over all. . . . 
War's Kaleidoscope has come again. 

George Shimko 

Everything around 

Reflects the time we've spent 

The sun, moon, stars, spring-waters and 

winter crystals. 
My life is mirrored by the seasons and my 

thoughts of 


George Shimko 

Sunday Mornings 

The crunch of the cinders as I cross the tracks 
I heard it many times as I now think back. 

Glistening grass from gold sunlight. 
Some Daffodils with petals bright. 
The arbor stands gaunt on the hill, 
With branches naked and barren still. 

Timothy bouncing in the waves, 
of April's breeze which fills the trees. 
The steady humming of the bees 
sounding like endless lisping "Z" 's. 

The muddy road I walk along 
My treads keep rythm to a song, 
Which deep inside, the beat I know. 
The Mockingbirds rap to and fro 
looking for quarry high and low. 

I see the barn now. 

What a rustic scene. . .field stone walls and weathered wooc 

Round hard snouts with beady eyes 
Cloven feet scurry with surprise. 
Burley Aberdeens walk with lengthy strides. 
Hooks and pins under glossy hides. 

The damp marsh, yet, grey and brown 
with Herefords lying on the ground. 
Leghorn, Yorkshire, Maine Anjou, 
Cheviot, Hampshire, and a Suffolk ewe. 

Like the cat perched beneath the canopy 

I hope this walk will always have access for me. 

Joseph G. Lalli 

Lovers love cuts so deep, 

carving their names, leaving tree to weep. 
Autumn comes and lone lover 

To tree cut memories, on the world 

Slowly loves memories drift away. . . 
One year has passed since that day. 
In different forest, in a love so new. . . 
Old forgotten tree, 

only one seed grew. 

James Forsyth 

Little Glass Animal 

The inner stress increasing 
Cracking once more 
The common glass animal. . . 
Worn around her neck. . . 
As close as I will ever come 
To her burning sapphire heart. 
So near. . .yet held by a chain. 

So eternally far. . . 

So impossibly far. 



^^^7 / 

Aspen leaves. . . trembling like my heart 

in a light breeze. 
Shade falling. . . green and grey 
Dappled on an overcast day. . . 

like my mind. 
Aspen leaves. . . rattling in rough air 

demanding as my love. 
Wet breeze. . . portending pale rain. . . 
Aspen leaves falling 




Ana Simon 

Railroads and crossroads can stand 

so silently 
Watching, if not daring, our hearts to 

become free. 
Cold steel and silence, even in dark 

of night 
Will never shake us from this love 

we hold so tight. 

It isn't often that one may find 
That special person who can ease your mind. 
Everyone's dreampt, and dreaming can be real. 
But all too well we know, being is to feel. 

We've been to a place where our hearts 

were so tranquil 
With the sun in our faces, our eyes 

very still. 
This place of which I speak, this place we know 

so well 
Is not the source of our joy, but is 

where our love dwells. 


■".% V-'- 

v * ■ * -1 . '• « 

'»; ,' <\\& 

She stands strong and still. . . 
obeying when the wind calls and 

when it is silent. 
She is a thousand years old, 
a hundred years old 
two weeks old. . . 

still in the wind. . . 
she is forever. 

The wind teaches her all she should know 
and what it doesn't teach her she learns from 

her own feelings. 
And these things are all true because 

she has told me. 
She often talks to me while I sit in her 


George Shimko 

September Love 

They are entangled in each other. 

They love each other with all the love that 
each has. She could not live without him. . .he 
would not survive without her. 

It is at the break of day when they renew 
their love, it is at the end of day when they 
are both silent. 

But it is in the morning, with the singing 
of birds and the stirring of life that they are one 
in each other. For in the morning, they both 
perform their acts of love. In the morning 
he touches her like a man touches a woman in the 
first and final stages of love. For in the morning 
she opens to him and he to her. 

They are beautiful together. . . 

the morning glory and the sun. 

George Shimko